


The proper attire

by astridshepard



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-18 23:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20321218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astridshepard/pseuds/astridshepard
Summary: What a woman's clothes say about her.





	1. The Scout

**Author's Note:**

> this is.... not your typical fic. it was a thing i did on tumblr and then my account was deactivated for posting a meme (yes, really. god love tumblr's flagging system.) my account is back, but i realized i have no other place for everything i wrote, so i'm storing it here.
> 
> i have back-up copies of the art, so in the event that i'm deactivated again for my Too Powerful Memes at least i know my writing is safe. -_-

Iothari’s original outfit is your standard Dalish scout gear: wool, leather, and ironbark mail, all designed so you can be quick and quiet. There’s very little of note in her pack beyond maintenance supplies, a leather-bound notebook (thick with extra pockets - all scouts carry one just in case they find something), and some long-lasting food.

* * *

When she is recruited by Duncan, Io doesn’t even have a momento she can take of Tamlen; all of his belongings were lost with him in the labyrinth. Marethari, knowing their history, gifts her one of her rings. Ilen hands her his latest bow with a look in his eyes and small squeeze from hands that lingers. These and her father’s necklace are Io’s only connections to her clan, and her past, that she can bring with her. Everything else (_and everyone_) is left behind.

* * *

Io hates the amulet the Wardens give her, but slips it next onto her father’s necklace anyway. It’s a weight too heavy to carry, one she never asked for, and so out of place amidst her Dalish wool and leather. Kind of like an elf in the middle of a human army.

* * *

Loghain put a price on their heads, but Io knows that <strike>all</strike> most elves look the same to a human. Alistair is not so lucky - he is disproportionately upset over having to bury his highly recognizable warden armor just outside Lothering _(_“…get rid of it just after I’ve broken it in right._ It was _expensive, _okay?”)_ They drudge up the coin to get him something unimpressive, while Io does her best to look as inauspicious as possible. It’s not difficult; most people have never run into a Dalish clan before, making it unlikely anyone will recognize her armor. And with the news of Lothering’s destruction at their heels, the group realizes that their ‘rag-tag adventurer look’ is probably seen as just more people fleeing a Blight. 

(_“My armor!”_

_“People **died**, Alistair.”  
_

_“It was _expensive_!”_)

* * *

Io is pleased, but not surprised, that her gear holds up over the following months. She makes the effort to take care of the last vestiges of her clan; the Dalish camp helps keep the proper supplies replenished, and everyone at the Circle is tripping over themselves to help once Uldred is taken care of (Alistair even manages to get a nice set of templar armor out of it.)

But her father’s necklace is stripped from her neck by a werewolf’s claw. It catches and snaps so quickly she didn’t register the loss until once the beast was down. The didn’t have time to search the underbrush for such small trinkets either, and she is forced to leave it behind.

Marethari’s ring is broken when a possessed templar’s grasp finds Io high in the tower; she manages to slip away, his fingers only able to gain purchase on the ring. He drops it almost instantly, unaware it was in his clutches, and it snaps under his heel as he tries to reach forward again.

Ilen’s bow is ripped from her grasp by a shriek ambush in the Dead Trenches. The creature screeches as she manages to get the arrow off, but she can’t back away quick enough before it retaliates. Faster than anything she’s seen before, the spawn takes one swipe and splits the wood in two. Io is too dazed at the loss of her last connection to her clan to notice Oghren save her life.

* * *

Io is exhausted and listless by the time they make it back to Orzammar. Most everything else she had was lost or destroyed beyond repair in the Deep Roads. It was a hard truth to swallow that she was no longer Iothari Mahariel, Dalish scout to the Sabrae clan, but Iothari Mahariel, Grey Warden turned outlaw and army commander. It was time to start over. 


	2. The Vagrant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just about everything she owned was ruined by the excursion in the Deep Roads. Which in and of itself was a good thing, considering she and Alistair are the two most wanted people in all of Ferelden. But, following Zevran’s advice, there was no need to disguise yourself when you could just… blend in.

Zevran had been eyeing the dagger in Garin’s shop before the Deep Roads ordeal, but concedes when Io needs a new one, having lost both of hers on the expedition. And luck would have it that the party would find old, but usable, equipment on the expedition to replace almost everything that was lost or broken as well. Her new sword, Topsider’s Honor, was reformed quickly while they rested and resupplied (_“Good steel wants to be whole again, Warden,”_said Janar while he worked.) And the bow, well…

It killed anything in front of it, quickly, viciously, and without question. No one had to know its origins.

And Io didn’t want to talk about how her hands bled after using it for too long.

The Assembly gave her a Key to the City. It didn’t do much in Orzammar beyond make it easier to barter. Outside, however, merchants and roaming traders can’t seem to be accommodating enough. Doors open and information comes freely as soon as they see it. Io uses the leverage to get a new set of leather armor - free of charge - from one of the traders set up outside Orzammar’s gates. They don’t have anything for an elf, but human armor (tailored) works just fine.

With her a hood drawn low, or tactfully smeared dirt, or Leliana’s carefully applied makeup, it was easy enough to hide her vallaslin and look like just another merc in a band for hire.

Which is exactly how they managed to sneak two of the most wanted people into Denerim.

(And back out a month later. Duty calls when there’s a blight to stop.)


	3. The Warden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercenary leathers are well and good up to a point - a point that turned out to be the Landsmeet. But Wade and Mikhael Dryden came through with their promises, and outfitted Io and Alistair with armor and weaponry fit for a warden and his Commander.

They had come to Denerim to chase rumors and left searching for more. And then Levi Dryden appeared, providing a much needed distraction, Io thought, which no one approved of.

She was stalling and she knew it. Maybe that’s why they happened to stumble upon a fortress in need of a proper regiment, hundreds of years of history waiting to be found, surviving schematics for warden armor, as well as Asturian’s legendary sword. Leliana said it as a sign from the Maker that Iothari truly was the next Commander of the Grey, sent to lead them all from the Blight.

Io tried not to hate her for that. Even Alistair stayed quiet.

Mikhael Dryden would have none of it, however, and simply took the rusted blade as a challenge. He sent them along with his word that by the time it came for her to lead their army against the darkspawn, she would have a sword fit for a Commander.

* * *

Io thought about this as they walked the lonely path up the mountain. A village laid in waste behind them, and a dragon lay in wait. There was nothing left of her past to take from her anymore. And yet…

The Gauntlet saw her distraction and severed the last remaining thread.

* * *

It was, however, the goodbye from Tamlen she deserved. 

* * *

Genitivi was shipped off to Denerim on the back of Bohdan’s cart while they made their way to Orzammar, to the mages’ circle, to anywhere and everywhere that meant they could tie up a few loose ends before confronting the Blight head on. Bohdan was particularly grateful to have an excuse to head toward the last remaining safe haven in Ferelden and handed over a ring from his trade at the dwarven gates - the Lifegiver, he called it. _For luck_, he said with a wink. 

When Eamon decides to take his concerns over the civil war directly to Loghain, the group decides to split up. Morrigan’s request was too dangerous to risk a larger party being noticed, and there was no guarantee that Loghain wouldn’t try to take another attempt on Eamon’s life. 

When they stumble over Elric, Cailan’s honor guard, on their way to the Korcari Wilds Alistair doesn’t bat an eye suggesting they kill two birds with one stone.

* * *

No one is pleased to find Cailan’s body strung up like old mutton. Alistair takes it personally when they have to bring down the Ogre that killed Ducan _again_. At the end of it all, while the horde has moved on, it seemed at least one ghost was finally put to rest.

Cailan’s armor is covered in months old grime, and Duncan’s sword and dagger are in desperate need of repair, but Io lead her party deeper into the wilds feeling like the pieces they had been gathering for months are finally falling into place.

* * *

Denerim was no more welcoming to them when they caught up with Eamon and the rest of their group that accompanied him from Redcliffe. In fact it seemed as though everyone in the city was working together to further ruin their plans. 

(They weren’t. Just Loghain, in a thousand different ways.)

Seeing the alienage is heart-breaking, and Io is less than pleased to find an elf, of all people, defending a slaver magister. But she had slaughtered entire villages, forest cults, countless darkspawn, and a dragon at this point. What was one more misguided elf?

The bow she took from the body was covered in a golden sheen and still warm, but didn’t hurt to hold like the forge master’s had been. It lacked the brutality the darkspawn could place in every item they built, but it was satisfying enough to use a magister’s gift against him and every slaver that stood in her way.

* * *

Wade was positively squealing at the pieces they brought to him from the warehouse. _The_ **_hi_**_**story,** Herren!_ he shouted. _I am the first armorer in Ferelden to work for a Warden in over a century!_

Herren doesn’t do much beyond try to shush his partner as he accepts their money. Of course they would be discreet, he promised. No extra gold needed to remind him that they’re working with wanted criminals. Blights do have a funny way of making such matters trivial, though.

* * *

The deliveries arrived the morning of the Landsmeet under the arl’s critical eye. He kept his peace, quickly working his way through battle plans and political strategy while his servants rushed to dress him. He watched as they gave one last test to their weapons’ sharpness. He even sent a servant to help Io properly secure her breastplate.

The moment Alistair’s hand touched the warden curaiss however, Eamon disapproved. Loudly, thoroughly. _Cailan had armor, it was their father’s_. _Alistair would be well within his rights as king-_

Io walked away at that point. It was a sore subject by then, and she was tired. So, so tired.

* * *

Besides, they had already given Cailan’s armor and sword (cleaned, polished, unblemished) to Anora in private, without ceremony. She thanked them quietly before they left her to her grief. 

* * *

Arl Eamon may have disagreed, but he had left for the palace long before them. _Such open support of the wardens before we’ve secured victory could be disastrous_, he’d said. And it was a pity, Io thought, as she and Alistair made their way through Denerim’s streets and throngs of people surrounding the palace gates, that he could not witness the peoples’ reaction. The gasps alone were enough to draw attention from two districts over, but watching a crowd part once they have noticed you was a strange, powerful feeling.

Iothari did not feel as though she, a Dalish elf lost in a sea of human politics, deserved the attention and awe. But Warden-Commander Mahariel had earned it.


	4. The Commannder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her scout armor was good enough for several years, but Wade (and Seneschal Varel) eventually convinced Iothari to upgrade. An arlessa’s appearances is just as important as a commander’s, after all.

The first few years flew by on a whirlwind. When she wasn’t defending a city from a siege, she was rebuilding farmland ravaged by the Blight or navigating the rapidly rising waters of human politics.

Alistair was with her every step he could be. Oghren returned to her side as well. The rest… it remained to be seen if she could lead them all as well as she lead the army against an archdemon.

Either way, the Thaw certainly lived up to its name.

* * *

It was their first foray out as she rebuilt the order, and Io tried her best to calm the group with her as they made their way through the Wending Wood. Really, she did. Oghren muttered under his breath non-stop, filling the smoky air with an undercurrent of bad liquor. Nathaniel didn’t say anything, but Io saw that he couldn’t shake the unease at knowing that his family’s lands were returning to the wild. Only Anders seemed unperturbed by the possessed trees and spooked mercenaries. At least, until Io noticed the spell held in his right hand, ready to fly out at any moment. 

Nor did it help that they continued to stumble upon Tevinter and elvish ruins, scooping up trinkets and bits of history with every step. A chill ran down her spine at the eerie callback to how this whole mess started, knowing that with every treasure found, they were risking walking deeper into a trap.

* * *

_I hate it when I’m right,_ she thought, waking up in the Architect’s lair sometime later.

* * *

The uneasy alliance held in the following months and years even as the thought of working with darkspawn made her skin crawl. And she knew - she _knew _\- her actions were justified. She knew it was right to spare the Architect, it was right to spare Avernus. Wardens, even those with an arling, tread the line of politically neutral in order to secure every asset they could to defeat the Blight (and by the Creators she was going to bend the meaning of that term as far as she could manage.) And if she was going to be the one who made the hard decisions then she would squeeze every advantage out of them that she could.

Alistair deferred to her judgment in public, but behind closed doors was a different matter. Avernus was calculating and deceitful, and it never sat well with him that they reaped the benefits of his barbaric experiments. The Architect was the very thing that they had joined the order to eliminate nevermind that he _had caused the Fifth Blight in the first place_. Letting either of them live (even Avernus, toothless as Io had made him) went against the goals of their order and his morals. 

Io did what she could to address his concerns over the years, until she could no longer hide the truth: _They could cure the taint._ She knew their methods were monstrous, being that they were both monsters of different sorts, but the potential existed. They were so _close _and if she let them work a little longer–

Alistair, shocked into silence at the revelation, took the assignment to the Free Marches she handed him. He then left the room with a look in his eyes that she never wanted to see again.

* * *

The bed was empty when she woke up to the next morning, and yet there was a ring on her hand that hadn’t been there the night before. Io slowly turned it in the early morning light, knowing enough about human customs to understand the significance. (Wardens couldn’t marry once they joined, but when had they followed the rules?)

They didn’t speak for the next few days unless necessary, but Alistair eventually returned to her side for a few more nights. It may have been due to a silver lock of hair, braided and woven, he found carefully wrapped in his travel pack, or it may not. They did not speak about it further.

* * *

It became unspoken tradition each time he left on assignments that only she could trust him with. Bodahn and Sandal would lay another enchantment on her ring, and Alistair would find pages of her journal wrapped around dried flowers and a slender coil of hair. It was a marriage of war and promises for thereafter, and for now it was enough.

* * *

Alistair may have disagreed with the alliance, but it was through another breakthrough with the Architect that Iothari got wind of someone she thought she’d never see again - Morrigan.

Morrigan, one her closest friends. Who asked so little in light of what she had given back, and yet Io needed to find her. It was a deep-seated need to see her friend’s face, and hopefully the child that she had forced into the world so she could live.

She just needed to know that this woman, her chosen sister, was okay.

Morrigan didn’t know that, nor did she care to listen, as Io hunted her trail. Books and bows and other such small, unremarkable items littered the paths she walked, and it took an embarrassing amount of time to realize their significance.

_Arlathan_. They were all pieces of Arlathan. Ariane held Finn back from the collection as they watched her marvel over it, delicately handling each item as though it would disintegrate under her touch, claiming the bow before anyone could protest.

Morrigan regarded Io sadly as she left the small cache behind, knowing it would be enough to keep her friend from following her through the mirror. For now.

Io considered it lucky that it would be several weeks more before Alistair came home. Enough time to try and figure out how to explain this mess.

* * *

Their argument, their last argument, went on for two weeks. Two long weeks wasted when they could have been expressing more pleasant goodbyes. It was not mentioned in polite company as anything other than a ‘disagreement’. Even Sigrun kept her comments to herself. 

Carefully timed as though it might be deliberate, Io was to be sent deep into the western wilds of Thedas at the request of the Architect, while someone had to respond to the urgent summons of the Orlesian wardens. Alistair balked when she reminded him that Orlesian wardens appearing on the border without notice could ignite another civil war, while Io was quiet when he pointed out what happened the last two times they split up for a significant period.

* * *

Io won, in the end. She always did, especially when it came to matters of duty. Alistair couldn’t contest that; it was why he loved her after all.

* * *

A compromise was reached: they would travel together through Ferelden and the Frostbacks before heading their separate ways. Io left the arling with a full but heavy heart in the command of Nathaniel. (He shook his head at that. _“The irony of it all.”_) He did refuse her sword and dagger, however, on the grounds that they ‘belonged in the hands of the Warden-Commander.’ 

The journey was made with haste, slowing only as they reached the foot of the mountains. Traveling alone was a blessing, as there was no need to hide behind professionalism; every moment away was spent in the comfort of each other’s company, touching and kissing freely as though they were two other people with nowhere to be in particular. 

It was at the peak of the Frostbacks that they took a few days to themselves. There were no last goodbyes, but Alistair did place his full journal inside her pack while she slept. Io had hid the matching ring she commissioned in his the day before.

Neither wished to leave, but on a clear morning, the two packed up their camp in silence. They kept close until the trader’s path they had been using forked, sharing another moment with each other before parting. Io watched as the man she shared herself with walked towards uncertainty and danger, until she couldn’t ignore the pull of duty any longer. With a whistle, Assan bounded down the mountain behind her, nudging his mistress’ side as she found her footing and composure once more. Western Thedas, and their hope for a cure, beckoned.


End file.
